Never Let Go
by jeanie2914
Summary: Angry words are hard to remove from the hearts they injure, but it doesn't mean we shouldn't try.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Hold on, Boss!" Jones' voice flooded Peter with relief. He could hear the young man's feet pounding on the bridge as he raced to where Peter was hanging, arms wrapped around a metal pole. His legs were dangling below; his muscles were shaking with exhaustion. He had managed to pull himself to this position, elbows wrapped around the bridge, but he didn't have the strength to bring himself the rest of the way. He had just had to hold on and wait, as precious moments slipped by.

Jones appeared above him, leaned over the railing, and grabbed Peter by the back of his shirt. After a moment or two of grunts and groans, Peter was topside. His immediate relief vanished, and he sprang back up, "Neal!" he looked over the railing. "He went over, Jones. He's in the water." Thirty feet below, swollen by heavy rains, the river raged with a muddy tint. There was no sign of Neal, but Peter hadn't expected one. He had seen the water swallow up his friend moments before.

More feet came pounding toward them, "Get search and rescue down here!" He heard Jones yell. "Caffrey's in the water."

"Take it easy, boss," pulling Peter back down to the ground to assess his condition. "Are you hit?" Jones was looking at Peter's shirt. They had heard a gunshot. Peter followed his gaze. The front of his shirt was spattered with blood. And he knew is face was, too. "No, it's not mine. It's Neal's"

He had felt the splash of warmth when the shot had rang out. Neal had been standing just in front of him, trying to talk a delusional man out of shooting them. The man who came to buy the painting was paranoid; he was high and not thinking clearly. He was scared, and Neal was trying to calm him down. They had been ordered to step back. Peter had done so, but Neal lagged behind, moving himself into a position where he blocked a clear line between Peter and the gunman. Peter thought Neal was getting somewhere, but the arrival of the FBI at the end of the bridge spooked the man, and in fear he pulled the trigger and took off. The blast sent a bullet through Neal, and blood spraying onto Peter's face and shirt.

Peter was in shock for a split second, blinking, tasting the salty copper of Neal's blood on his lips. The force of the bullet propelled Neal backward, into him, and then towards the railing; a surprised look on his face. Peter grabbed at him just as he went over the edge, and both of them tumbled over. Peter caught hold of a piece of the lower railing with one hand, the other holding tightly to Neal. The jolt of the arrested descent tore at Peter's shoulder. He hung there, grimacing in pain, both his weight and Neal's pulling unmercifully on his arm. He looked down to see Neal dangling beneath him. He had a hold of Neal's wrist, and Neal had a hold of his. Hands locked together in a desperate grip.

"Give me your other hand Neal," He said through gritted teeth. "You are slipping."

"No, Peter," Neal's voice sounded weak. "Let me go. You can't hold both of us."

Peter didn't know how bad Neal had been hit, but he could see the blood stain on Neal's shirt expanding each second. The expression on his face was no longer one of surprise; it was of pain.

"Yes I can." Peter's voice was determined, in spite of the trembling weakness that was growing in his arm. Help was only moments away. He just had to hold on. On to the railing and on to Neal.

"No you can't." Neal's eyes had darkened. "Let me go," He said again.

"I am not letting go!" Peter could hear the desperation in his raised voice.

"I know you're not," Neal's eyes met his. "but _I am._" He felt Neal's hand open; the grip on his wrist disappearing. Peter squeezed but could feel Neal slipping from his grasp. "Dammit, Neal!"

Peter grasped at the air futilely watching as Neal dropped away from him. The tearing pain in his arm lessened immediately, but a worse pain swept through him as he realized that those words might be the last he ever said to his friend. Peter saw Neal's blue eyes close as he fell; the water so rough there wasn't even a splash as Neal disappeared beneath the murky surface.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

24 hours previously...

"This stunt could have cost us the case, Caffrey!" Peter's voice was angry, and he made no attempt to conceal it. Neal could practically feel the anger radiating from his partner as he glared at him across the top of the Taurus. He was Neal when they were getting along; He was Caffrey when Peter was pissed. And Peter was pissed.

"Cases aren't everything," Neal glared back, trying to match Peter's anger. "Some things are more important. Like people."

"Not to you," Peter snapped. "Solving cases is what keeps you out of the orange jumpsuit. You need to remember that." He got into the car and slammed the door.

"Its hard to forget since you bring it up every other week," Neal said as he slid into the passenger side seat. When Peter didn't respond to his sarcastic remark, and Neal sighed defeatedly.

He didn't like to fight with Peter; didn't like to hear anger or disappointment in the agent's voice. The feelings it caused in him were hard to explain. In his life, through his various enterprises and activities, he had made a lot of people angry at him; had disappointed more than he could number. It didn't usually bother him. Except when it was Peter. He told himself that there was a simple reason for that; upsetting and disappointing Peter Burke could land him in prison. The man could make one call and have him back in Sing Sing before nightfall. That reason for his feelings was easier to accept than the deeper ones Neal suspected were at play. Peter being mad at him didn't scare him; it _hurt_ him.

"It all worked out fine," Neal said, forcing a positive tone into his voice. "You got Bellington and the painting."

"That was luck," Peter said flatly. "You would have blown weeks of work to let Alex walk out of there today."

Neal bit back his retort that it was skill, and not luck, which had lead to the successful take down of Bellington. He was already in enough trouble. Peter was right about Alex and the case, but it hadn't come to that. He had saved Alex and the operation too. Skill, not luck, he thought to himself.

For Peter he shrugged, "She was not a part of your case."

When a still clearly perturbed Peter didn't answer, Neal tried to explain.

"I didn't know she was involved, Peter." His voice was seeking understanding, but he did not get any from the man behind the wheel.

"Yeah, at first maybe," Peter seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth, "But when you realized that she was you didn't tell me." His voice was cold and accusing.

That was what really bothered Peter, Neal knew. Keeping things from Peter, although sometimes necessary, was never received well once the truth came out. Reasons and excuses made little difference; This was no exception.

"You didn't need her to make the case," he said again "but thanks to her we have a meet with the buyer tomorrow, and after that," Neal looked expectantly at Peter, "Case Solved."

Peter knew Neal was trying to make peace; he could hear it in his voice. But he was still angry and offered him no quarter. He met Neal's hopeful look with a dark one of his own, letting anger drip from his words.

"It had better be, " he warned. "You do what I tell you to do, nothing more and nothing less. You go off on your own again, and _we are done_." Orange jumpsuit; Back to prison. Threat delivered; he turned back to the road. Neal sank into silence and didn't try for conversation again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"So, what has Neal done now?" El asked. Peter was frowning at the food on his plate; fork poised but never finishing its task. He had been angry and distracted ever since he arrived. Such volatile emotions in her husband almost always had to do with Neal. Sometimes his _partner_ Neal Caffrey, sometimes his _friend_ Neal Caffrey, sometimes his _CI_ Neal Caffrey, but apparently this afternoon, it was the _Albatross-around-his-neck_ Neal Caffrey.

"He went off script and almost blew our take down of Bellington today."

Her eyebrows raised but not in surprise. "Really? Who was it?"

Peter looked up at her in confusion, "What do you mean? Who was what?"

"Was it Mozzie?" Peter's only answer was a blank look. Elizabeth sighed.

To take such pride in being the world's leading expert on Neal Caffrey, sometimes her husband was clueless. "Peter, Neal doesn't go off script without a good reason. Usually, he is trying to fix something he thinks he's messed up, or he is trying to protect someone he cares about."

Peter answered her sigh with one of his own, dropping his fork into his plate. He wasn't hungry. "Alex Hunter," he said.

His wife nodded, "Did he succeed?" she asked "In protecting her?".

"Yeah," Peter admitted "Alex walked away unscathed, free to continue her life of questionable legalities, hopefully outside my jurisdiction."

She smiled. "And you got Bellington?" At her husband's nod, she continued, "Then why are you mad at Neal?"

Peter stood up. It was hard to explain his anger at Neal. The look Diana had sent him when Alex's name had come up over the wire was _"Did you know this?"_ and his answering look was clear—_no he didn't_. Neal had acted off step the past couple of days and now he knew why. Alex Hunter was going to be a factor; Neal knew this but didn't tell him. This fact, as he sat in the van and listened to Neal adjust, alter and manipulate the plan to meet his own agenda, had caused his face burn with anger. Neal should have come to him and told him. Together they could have figured out something. Instead, he had manipulated the situation to make sure nothing could stick to his old partner. Peter had felt like a fool in the van, trying to play catch up, having been left in the dark by his own CI.

"I felt like an idiot, sitting in the van with Jones and Diana, listening to Neal do his thing," he said finally. "He should have come to me and told me when he realized Alex was involved. He shouldn't have kept that information from me. He made me look like a fool."

"So you are mad because he embarrassed you?" Her voice made it sounded petty; like he was just suffering from a wounded ego.

"No," Peter fumed, "It isn't about my pride, El, it is about _his_ loyalties. He can't choose friends over his obligation to the Bureau." He stood up, pacing the room. "When the FBI makes a deal with a criminal, there is usually a clause in the agreement about cutting ties with former associates. It helps eliminate conflicts of interests like the one that occurred today."

"But where would you be if Neal cut ties with his former associates?" She asked. "How many times have you used Nick Halden and his associates to catch a bad guy? How many times have you used Mozzie? And even Alex? You can't expect Neal to use his friends to help you close cases, and then be angry at him for having them."

"I am not angry at him for having friends," He argued, "I just question his judgement where they are concerned." Neal had been out of line today. He had a right to be angry at him; to question his motives.

"Well, it sounds like you are." There was a disapproving tone to her voice and it irritated him. She acted like he was unreasonable.

"It just that he would have blown the case today..._for a friend_. He has a sweet deal, but he belongs to the FBI until his time is served." He grabbed his jacket from the chair, looking quickly at Elizabeth. "That is where his loyalty needs to be, first and foremost, _to the Bureau_ ." _And to me,_ he added in his head. "Today it clearly wasn't and I am not good with that." He slammed the door behind him harder than he meant to. He needed to walk.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi guys! I promise Neal will _resurface_ in the next chapter. I finish the story before I begin posting; my schedule (barring death or dismemberment) is one chapter per day. This story has twelve chapters. Thanks for reading and thanks for the reviews. They bring smiles to my face, for which I am ever so grateful!

Oh, yeah, and…

_I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility_

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**Chapter Four**

The meet Alex had set up between Neal, Peter and the buyer was set for 3 p.m. Peter, representing Bellington, was bringing the painting; Nick Halden was there to verify its authenticity. Peter assembled the team for the pre-meet briefing. Having Peter and Neal in such proximity to one another was uncomfortable, to say the least. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

It had been that way in the office all day. Peter was angry at Neal over the mishap during the take down of Bellington the day before, and everyone was feeling the arctic chill in the air. Neal had arrived at the office early, brought coffee to everyone, smile in place. Peter had arrived early, too, scowl on his face, looking like he hadn't slept well. He spoke to both Diana and Jones, waving away without a word the coffee Neal held out as a peace offering and stomped towards his office. The smile Neal had plastered on his face in greeting fell away quickly, but he flashed a dim replica when he caught Jones' gaze and shrugged. He dropped the coffee in the trash and returned to the stack of files on his desk. Head down, he worked quietly. Anytime Peter emerged from his office, Jones saw Neal raise his head expectantly, hopeful that Peter had softened his stance and would come talk to him. But it didn't happen. If Peter did descend the stairs, it was to confer with one of the agents or to refill his coffee. Neal tried to warm the atmosphere at every opportunity, but nothing worked. Diana and Jones felt the stress, pitying both their boss and Neal, who seemed to be withering under Peter's non-relenting rage as the day wore on. On the scale of Neal antics, the side-stepping he had engaged in to keep his friend Alex out of trouble seemed like a small thing. However for some reason it had set Peter off in a way they had not seen before. He was seething. It had been a miserable day for everyone-but especially for Neal.

In the conference room, Peter handed out the facts of the case and the timeline of the scheduled meeting. His face was tense, and after a day of having every attempt to lighten the mood squashed by cold comments or sharp looks from Peter, Neal was unusually quiet. He listened intently, eyes on the paper in front of him, as Peter briefed the team. He never even looked up. Until.

"As long as none of Caffrey's fellow criminals show up, things should go fine." The tone was cold. Neal's head shot up, looking in disbelief at Peter. He had just called him a criminal in front of Hughes and everyone else. Peter stared back at him with a smug look on his face. Neal's face flushed, and he dropped his head, eyes resting on the paper in his hand. The silence in the room was deafening.

"We roll in twenty," Peter said, feeling a degree of satisfaction as the paper in Neal's hand shook slightly. The meeting over, Neal was immediately out the door, looking like he was going to be sick. He bounded down the stairs and disappeared in the general direction of the restroom. Hughes gave Peter a questioning look and left, and the rest of the agents filed out after him. Only Diana stayed behind.

"What?" Peter's voice was sharper than he intended it to be at Diana's disapproving look.

"Look, Boss," she began, "I understand that Caffrey pissed you off yesterday, but it's not like you to be cruel. And considering you have to go undercover with the guy in" she looked at her watch "forty-five minutes, you might want to go make sure he isn't puking in the bathroom."

"Caffrey will be fine," he answered brusquely. "One thing he is good at is taking care of his own best interests." She was silent, but the look on her face reminded him of Elizabeth. After several seconds, she spun on her heels and left the office.

Jones and Diana were waiting near the door for the rest of the team when Neal returned from the restroom twenty minutes later. Peter was still in his office, waiting until the last possible moment to join them, and when they saw the Neal they exchanged surprised looks. The change in the man was phenomenal. Neal Caffrey hadn't returned from the restroom, but apparently Nick Halden had. Ready to authenticate a painting, clothes perfect and hair neat; he didn't look like someone who, as Jones knew well, had been dry heaving in the bathroom moments earlier. His stance portrayed confidence, ease and comfort. Nothing Neal had possessed all day. When Peter joined them at the door and asked if everyone was ready, Nick's smile was easy and charming, but the expression behind the eyes was empty and detached. It was as if Neal Caffrey had disappeared, and only Nick Halden was left behind. If Peter noticed, or even cared, he didn't say a word.


	5. Chapter 5

_Okay, Neal is back..._

_I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility_

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**Chapter Five**

"Over there!" Peter could see something at the edge of the river; caught in the tall grass. He hoped it was an unconscious person on soggy ground; not a body floating in shallow water. It had been close to half an hour since Neal had gone over the railing. He felt panic threaten to overtake him at the thought of Neal dead; of his blue eyes closed forever. It couldn't end like this. He wouldn't be able to live with it if it did.

He moved as swiftly as he could along the uneven shoreline, feet squishing in his wet shoes. As he got closer, he knew it was Neal. Even wet and muddy, he could see the flash of red from the gunshot wound on Neal's shirt. But had gone through and through; Neal was lying face down, and Peter knew he had taken the blast straight on. A stain spread across his back. Neal's head was turned to the side, resting on one arm. The other arm awkwardly extended in front of him; his legs were still partially in the water. Peter was beside him in moments, kneeling down with shaking fingers to feel for a pulse; terrified he wouldn't find one. He felt a wave of relief when Neal stirred at his touch, moaning slightly, his eyes still closed. He had found his friend; not just a body that had been Neal, but Neal. He was alive.

"He's alive! Get me a blanket!" he shouted to Jones, who was the closest to him, and the announcement carried up the riverbank, both by voice and radio.

Peter grasped under Neal's shoulders and pulled him gently out of the water. In addition to the loss of blood, there was a chance of hypothermia. It was cold, and Neal was soaked to the bone. After his feet had been clear, he grasped Neal and turned him onto his back. He could see the pale mud-streaked face, hair plastered to his forehead. He was surprised to see blue eyes open, looking into his own.

"There you are," Peter said, gently pushing the hair off of Neal's forehead. "I have been looking for you."

Neal's eyes seemed confused but his tone, hopeful. "Really?" he whispered softly.

Peter swallowed at the sound of Neal's voice, taking a moment to make sure his own voice sounded strong before he spoke. "Yeah, really, and you are gonna be okay, Neal, we'll have you outta here very soon."

Peter eyes went to Neal's shirt. It was muddy and dripping with water, but the bright red blood was visibly seeping at an alarming rate. The entry wound seemed just below the left collarbone. He shed his jacket and spread it over Neal's body. He then positioned himself beside Neal and pulled him up so that his back was leaning against Peter's side. He put his hand on the exit wound, wincing at the feel of the torn flesh beneath his palm, and applied pressure. He felt Neal tense against the pain, moaning slightly. Reaching around Neal's trembling body, he placed his hand over the entry wound, took a deep breath and pushed hard. Neal cried out, eyes frantic at the sudden pain of his wounds being squeezed in Peter's hands. His hand come up to push at Peter, but it flailed weakly, ineffectual.

"I am sorry, Neal," Peter said "I have to stop the bleeding."

Jones was suddenly back, blanket in tow, first aid kit in his hand. He dropped beside the two men, opening the kit on the ground. After giving Neal's lower body a cursory glance, and determining no injuries, he covered him with the blanket. Tucking it underneath his legs, he said, "Medics are on their way, " and began to assess the man's condition. Peter was applying pressure to the gunshot wound, slowing the rate of blood loss, but it was evident that Neal had already lost a dangerous amount. His skin was pale and clammy; his respiration increased. Jones took Neal's wrist in his hand and checked his pulse. Rapid and thready. He turned Neal's hand in his, pinching Neal's fingernail to check his capillary refill. He checked it again. Definitely delayed. He looked up to see Peter's questioning eyes on him. "They are still ten minutes out." His tone told Peter that ten minutes was a very long time. "We need to lay him flat, and elevate his legs a few inches, to help with circulation. He has lost a lot of blood. Keep the pressure on the wound."

Neal's eyes had closed again, and his breaths were coming in short gasps. Peter spoke to him again, "You're okay, Neal. Everything is gonna be okay." His words of reassurance were as much for his own benefit as they were for Neal's. Neal would be okay; he had to be.


	6. Chapter 6

_This chapter is a bit longer than previous ones. Just the way it turned out. Six more to go after this one...twelve total. I know nothing about medical stuff so ignore any stupidity. I research a bit, but mostly make it up as I go. It is all in fun!_

_Thanks for reading and for all the reviews, folks! They mean a lot to me and keep me encouraged. _

_As always, I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility_

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**Chapter Six**

As Peter shifted his position, Neal's eyes fluttered open. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, even though his skin was cool. Jones pulled Neal into a sitting position, and Peter held him steady while Jones applied a pressure bandage to the exit wound. Peter could feel the young man's body trembling against his own. The bandage in place, Jones spread a clear plastic sheet on the ground and eased Neal back on it. Peter again applied pressure to the wound inches beneath Neal's collar bone. Blue eyes, full of pain and questions, met Peter's brown ones; the pale lips parted, a groan escaping them. The sound was pitiful. "I'm sorry," he said again. He knew he was hurting Neal, and he didn't want to.

But he had wanted to earlier, Peter remembered in horror. Back in the conference room-Had that really only been two hours ago?-there had been hurt, and disbelief in Neal's face and Peter had enjoyed seeing it. He had intentionally inflicted pain so suddenly, so without warning, that even the great Neal Caffrey had been unable to hide his reaction to it. He had been disappointed in Neal, questioning his loyalty to the bureau, but the anger came from his questioning of Neal's loyalty to him. Those feelings had inspired his rage and ignited a cruel streak that he didn't know he possessed. He had humiliated Neal during the briefing and made sure that Neal knew that he enjoyed doing it. That memory brought a lump to Peter's throat, and he apologized again; not for the pressure he was applying to Neal's injuries but for something else entirely. "I am _so sorry,_ Neal.'

He had spent the day punishing Neal, but when Bellington's buyer freaked out, holding a gun, Neal had stepped between the gunman and Peter. When he was dangling over swirling dark water and Peter was his only hold on safety, Neal had chosen to let go. "_You can't hold both of us, Peter"_ Neal had said. And when Neal realized that Peter couldn't make that choice, he had done so himself. And he had questioned the man's loyalty? He closed his eyes in shame.

"He's out, again, Peter," Jones's urgent voice brought Peter to the present, and he saw that Neal's eyes were closed. "You got to wake him up; He does not need to sleep right now."

Peter nodded in understanding. "Neal," he said, "You need to open your eyes." Stripping off his jacket, Jones went to Neal's legs and used it to elevate them a few inches, and then folding the extra length of the blanket to add a few more. It wasn't much, but it was all they could do until the medics arrived. Slow down the bleeding, keep Neal warm and awake and help his heart deal with the low volume of blood circulating in his veins. He glanced at Neal's pale face; his eyes were still closed. "Wake him up, Peter."

"Neal," Peter urged again, shaking the man's body "Open your eyes and look at me." Still no response.

"Dammit, Neal, wake up!"

The frustrated tone cut through Neal's muddled brain, and the dark eyelashes fluttered. Peter saw a glimmer of blue, but his relief melted at the look that met his. Clearly distressed, Neal cried out weakly "I'm…I'm sorry!" His trembling increased; his hand grabbed Peter's shirt desperately. "Please don't be mad at me, Peter."

Peter looked at Jones helplessly.

"Peter," Jones said earnestly "anxiety is a symptom of shock, of blood loss." Jones had witnessed the tension between his boss and Neal today, and he knew that guilt was eating away at Peter. But there was no time for thoughts of self-recrimination right now. "You need to focus on keeping him awake and as calm as possible. I am going to see where our medics are." He gave Peter's arm an awkward squeeze before jumping up and leaving.

"Please," Neal was repeating weakly, "please don't be mad..." still distressed; not calm. Peter swallowed the lump in his throat and focused on what Jones had said. Awake and Calm.

"I am not mad at you, Neal," Peter assured him gently but allowed urgency in his voice when he added, "but you have to stay awake. You cannot sleep right now, do you understand?"

"hate it when…when you are mad at me." Neal mumbled, tears welling up in his dazed eyes and making a trail in the mud and grime down the sides of his face. "It makes me just want to…to disappear." His eyes closed on those words, and Peter gently tapped his cheek.

"Look at me, Neal," Peter said. When the eyes opened, he continued, "I am not mad at you, Neal, and even when I am, I do not _ever_ want you to disappear."

"It feels like you do," he answered weakly.

Peter remembered the blush on Neal's face in the briefing room and the way he had dropped his head. That is how he had looked; like he wanted to disappear. Pain struck through Peter's heart at the memory, but it was a pain he knew he deserved to feel.

"I am sorry Neal," Peter's voice broke on the words. _Awake and Calm_, he told himself and when he continued his voice was steady, "Everything is okay now. Everything is going to be okay."

Moments later Peter looked up in relief. "Here we are," Jones said, looking in concern at Neal. The Medics had arrived; they were carrying a gurney between them, with two boxes of equipment sitting on it.

"I'm cold Peter," Neal said suddenly; his tone sharper. Peter met Neal's wide eyes "and I'm scared."

"Its okay, Neal," Peter said, hoping it was true now that help had arrived. "I am right here with you."

"Don't leave me," Neal whispered, eyes pleading weakly.

"I won't," Peter said, watching the eyes become dull, "I've got you."

Neal's eyes closed then, and the grip he had on Peter's shirt relaxed. Peter took Neal's hand in his own and squeezed it. He felt Neal squeeze back.

"Don't let me go." Neal's voice was barely audible.

"I won't, Neal," Peter said, "I promise I won't let you go."


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks for reading; reviews make me happy..._

_I am still medically ignorant so please ignore any stupidity. _

_I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility_

**Chapter Seven **

Peter moved as much out of the way as he could, not letting go of Neal's hand. He felt such relief seeing professions spring into action around his friend. An oxygen mask was applied first. "This will increase the efficiency of the remaining blood supply and get more oxygen to his brain." The man explained. Oxygen to the brain? Peter looked at Neal in alarm, but he knew this; the loss of consciousness due to blood loss was caused by a lack of oxygen to the brain.

"Marked tachycardia, decreased systolic BP, narrowed pulse pressure," the other man was saying, he placed a hand on Neal's forehead and checked his pupils "depressed mental status, skin is pale and cold to the touch, looks like a Class III or possible Class IV hemorrhage."

"Let's get this iv started in him." He spoke to Peter as he worked. " Your friend is suffering from hypovolemic shock, a condition in which severe blood loss make the heart unable to pump enough blood to the body. This will help compensate for some of the lost fluid volume. We will get some plasma going as soon as we get back to the unit." As soon as it was in, the medics prepared to move Neal into the gurney for transport. Peter stood up as they lifted Neal. "Now, keep him steady and as level as possible. No sudden moves."

It was easier said than done, carrying Neal back up the river bank to where the unit was waiting, and Peter had reluctantly surrendered Neal's hand, placing it gently under the blanket that covered his still body. Diana was waiting at the unit and met them as they crossed the embankment onto the hard surface. She glanced at what she knew was Neal on the gurney. Little of his face was visible but what there was looked gray. The medics had stopped to lower the wheels and lock them into place. After that, they began to roll quickly towards the waiting unit.

"Jones said it's bad," She tore her eyes from the lifeless body on the gurney and looked at Peter.

"Yeah, it is," Peter said, confirming her statement. "He's unconscious. He's lost a lot of blood." His voice sounded drained of emotions, much as Neal looked drained of blood.

"Boss," Diana said, "Did you get to…." She stopped and then rushed on, "Did you get to talk to him?"

Peter knew what was on her mind. She had been upset with him today, upset by the way he had treated Neal. She had tried to get him to reach out, and he had refused. And now Neal might be dying. How had he left things, she wanted to know, if this was, in fact, the end?

"Yes, I did," He swallowed hard, looking away. "I told him I was sorry….he," he paused, looking back at her face. "He wanted me there… after everything…he wanted me with him, Diana."

She could see tears in her boss's eyes; she nodded, not trusting her own voice.

"He asked me not to leave him," Peter continued, "He told me not to let him go." Peter's voice broke.

Diana's jaw clenched. "Well, then don't." At his look, she pulled up strength she didn't know she had. "He's not dead yet, Peter. Get in there with him and _don't let him go_. I will meet you at the hospital."

Peter nodded in agreement, suddenly strengthened by a task to focus on. He ran towards the unit, arriving just before the doors were closed. Flashing his badge and saying "I am going with him," he climbed into the unit without waiting for permission. The plasma was already started, and Peter moved to the small bench beside his friend. He grabbed the limp hand and squeezed. Neal didn't squeeze back this time, but it didn't matter.

"I won't let you go." The voice was strong; the tone matter of fact. Neal couldn't argue with that. He would know better.

The medic smiled; the kid might just make it, after all.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks for the support; you are all the best. This is the most fun I have had in quite awhile, I must say. _

_I said before that I will post a chapter a day, baring death or dismemberment, however I must add to that list, loss of electricity and internet service. We are expecting 10 inches of heavy snow, and in the mountains, that can mean power outages. I will hope for the best,but just wanted to let you know in case._

_Ignore any stupidity in the medical stuff...and as always;_

_I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility_

**Chapter Eight**

Even before his arrival at the hospital, Neal had been administered oxygen, given medications to increase the function of his heart and to improve his blood pressure, received two units of blood and an iv. The medics estimated a 35 % blood volume loss-any more than 40% survival would have been unlikely. Immediately after his arrival, dozens of tests had been run, many to determine the extent of organ damage from the massive blood loss. Blood chemistry tests, including kidney function tests, and tests checking for evidence of heart muscle damage and an Echo-cardiogram to test on heart structure and function, just to name a few. Once the hypovolemic shock had been reversed, he had been rushed into surgery to repair the damage from the gunshot wound. Having suffered from so much physical trauma, it would be several days before Neal would be ready to go home.

After almost two days, Neal had regained consciousness. However highly medicated, he had been groggy and, for the most part, unresponsive. June and Elizabeth had taken turns sitting with him, holding his hand and speaking in soft, comforting tones. Both Diana and Jones had dropped by to check on Neal, and Peter was pretty sure that even Mozzie had made an appearance. Peter had refused to leave Neal's side during those first critical hours as they worked to stabilize him. When it was clear that he would be recover, Peter had finally left, going home to shower, shave and change clothes. He had gone to the office, assured Hughes that Neal would be okay, and finished up the paperwork related to the Bellington case.

He had been by to check on Neal each day, but they hadn't really talked. After the initial exchanges, there had settled an awkward silence between the two men. Peter tried to ease it by talking about some upcoming cases. Neal seemed preoccupied with the blanket covering him and added little to the conversation. After a few minutes Peter could see signs of fatigue on Neal's face, so he stood to make his escape. He patted the young man's arm encouragingly telling him to get some sleep and that he'd be back the next day. Neal accepted the gesture with thanks, both unable to meet the eyes of the other.

Neal's memory had not been greatly affected by the trauma, even though some of the later events while he lay near unconsciousness by the water, were fuzzy in his mind. Peter had found himself hoping that at least the events of the day would have been lost from Neal's memory. Especially the memory of those moments in the conference room, when in anger, Peter called him a criminal in front of all his co-workers. When Neal had been so upset that, face flushed, he had rushed from the room to be physically ill. And the worst part, the way Peter had met Neal's stunned, hurt look with a look of triumph. He didn't want Neal to remember that; in fact he wished that he could just erase those memories from both of their minds. He wished it had never happened. But Neal did remember; it was the source of the detachment he could see on the brief occasions when Neal would meet his eyes with his own.

"Neal," he said during his daily awkward visit. "About the other day, about what I said in the conference room…" Peter broke the silence in the room.

"Its okay, Peter," Neal said, his face tinged with color, suffering the same fate it had that day in the conference room. "I know you're mad about the Alex thing."

"I am not mad," Peter said, but then at Neal's look clarified. "I am not mad now. But yes, I was then." He admitted quietly. Neal didn't answer and didn't meet Peter's eyes. He picked absently at the threads of the blanket that covered him. A new pastime.

"I let you down," Neal said quietly. "I get that."

"Yeah, you did," Peter said. "You had information about the case and you kept it from me. I felt like I had been conned; conned by a friend. I felt like you had made a fool out of me."

"So it was payback, then, in the conference room?" Neal's face was pale again. "I made a fool out of you, so you returned the favor?"

"Yeah, maybe something like that," Peter said quietly.

When Neal looked at him, there was a flash of anger in his eyes. "Nothing I did was to hurt anyone. I was just trying to find a way to make everything work…a way to get Bellington for you and to save Alex, too. You mighta got hurt," He voice had risen anxiously but then he paused, calmed himself and looked away from Peter. "You mighta got hurt but it wasn't because I _wanted_ to hurt you." He swallowed hard. "I don't hurt people on purpose."

Peter knew that dig was for him; he had hurt Neal on purpose. The words landed like a blow, but it was a blow he knew he deserved. Neal had taken his blows in the office; he would take his now. Peter put his hand on Neal's arm and felt his friend grow tense under his touch. "I'm sorry, Neal."

Neal didn't respond to the apology and adjusted his position on the bed slightly, turning his face from Peter. Hampered by his injuries, he couldn't outright turn his back to Peter but the gesture was clear. He pulled the blanket up, past his chin, almost covering his pale face.

"Please go, Peter," he said quietly, "I'm tired. I just wanna sleep now."

Not the response to his apology he had hoped for, Peter stood. Neal was upset and angry, and he had every right to be. Dismissed, Peter left the room.


	9. Chapter 9

_Did not lose power, but a huge limb from a pine tree narrowly missed our house! I will be glad when spring time comes..._

_Again, thanks for reading and for the reviews! Sorry...no Neal in this chapter :(_

_Of course, I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility_

**Chapter Nine**

"I screwed up everything."

He was sitting on the sofa, head in his hands. He had just returned from the hospital; his attempt to repair things with Neal failing miserably. Neal had been so much easier to apologize to when he had been bleeding out on the river bank. But Peter knew that in order for Neal to really accept an apology, it had to be offered to him while he was in his right mind. He had done so, but things didn't seem any better. Neal was angry and distant.

"You told him you were sorry," Elizabeth reminded him. "How did he respond?"

"He said he was tired, and he wanted to sleep," was Peter's forlorn answer.

"Well," she said, "He is in the hospital recovering from surgery and blood loss."

"I told him I was sorry for humiliating him in the conference room, but…" he paused, "that wasn't enough."

"Why not?"

Peter hadn't said much about his ongoing argument with Neal since the first day it happened. When Elizabeth hadn't given him the response he wanted, he had stormed out of the house in anger. But now his anger was gone, replaced by a deep sense of regret.

"I was mean to him, El," Peter leaned back, his voice was full of self-loathing, "more than that, I was intentionally cruel. I treated him like crap all day because I was questioning his loyalty, and even after everything I did to him, he stepped between me and a man with a gun."

"That sounds like Neal," Elizabeth said.

"I was mad because he risked the case to help out Alex," he said. "I was upset that he didn't tell me about her involvement. I felt like, by keeping that secret, he somehow chose her over me."

Elizabeth touched his arm gently, "I knew there was more to it than just the fact that he embarrassed you in front of the team."

"Well, there was that, too, but no, that wasn't what was fueling my anger," He said. "It was a loyalty thing, you know?" He shook his head, "This was a problem and instead of bringing me into it, he just handled it on his own."

"But that's Neal, Peter," Elizabeth reminded him. "He isn't exactly forthcoming. Neal doesn't ask for help; he is used to doing things alone. You know that.'

"Yeah, but him going off on his own like that, it worries me. It worries me that he may have enemies out there that can just waltz into his life at any moment, and that I can't trust him to tell me if they do."

"But Alex isn't an enemy Peter," Elizabeth reminded him, "She is a friend."

"That is almost worse," Peter admitted. "it's like we play tug of war with him-me, pulling him towards a new life and them, pulling him towards his old one."

"And when he risked the case to help her it felt like she was winning the battle?'' Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah," Peter admitted, "and I was so pissed at him, I wanted to punish him…and I did… but El," He looked at her, anguish in his eyes. "I felt his _blood splatter_ on my face, I saw him disappear _under the water_…" He felt a lump in his throat and stopped, not trusting his voice to continue. "At that moment I didn't give a damn about the case or if he was working with Alex. The only thing I cared about was that he was alive."

"It made everything clear, didn't it," she asked, "There is a reason people should never go to bed angry with someone they love," Elizabeth said softly "just be grateful that you have a chance to make it right again."

"I am beyond grateful," he said, thinking about how easily that chance could have been lost "and I want to make things right, but I don't know how."

"What is it you always say?" she asked, "Cowboy Up, Peter, tell him what you just told me. Tell him that no matter what might happen between you two; you care about him."

"But after everything I said and did," his voice trailed off, "I don't know if he will believe me."

"Don't make excuses for your actions," Elizabeth directed, "but explain what you were feeling. Tell him why you felt the way you did and why you worry when people from his past are involved."

"He cares about his friends, I know that," He shook his head "but choosing them can get him into real trouble."

"Neal has always cared about people," Elizabeth said, "That is nothing new. That is what you liked about him from the beginning. Neal protects people; he puts people first. And that includes you, too, Peter." She squeezed his arm gently, "He may have risked a case to save Alex, but he risked his life-_twice_-to save you." She leaned back, "You might just have to give him a little time. He deserves, that, doesn't he?"

Peter remembered Neal's efforts to make peace with him after the Bellington arrest. No matter what he had done, Peter had not shown him any mercy, given him any encouragement, or offered any forgiveness.

"Yes, he does," Peter was just glad that Neal's time hadn't run at the river. "And I will give him all he needs."


	10. Chapter 10

_I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility. _

**Chapter Ten**

Peter found Neal sitting in a recliner by the window, a blanket over his lap. He was getting stronger. The hospital staff had encouraged him to sit up several hours today; he had even had a brief stroll down the hallway earlier. It had been four days since he had lost sight of Neal beneath the murky waters. Neal had shaven and was dressed in pajamas instead of a hospital gown. Obviously June had been by, bearing gifts, in preparation for his discharge the following morning.

"You look better," Peter said. "I hear they are letting you out of here tomorrow."

"That is the plan." Neal flipped through the Aesthetica magazine on his lap. "How's Elizabeth?"

"Good, just been busy. She said to tell you she was sorry about not getting by yesterday. She will come and sneak you some food after work."

Neal smiled, "That's nice. I will look forward to it." Eyes still on the pages of the Art and Culture magazine. Neal was healing, but there was more than a gunshot wound that needed to be healed; and unfortunately it had been Peter who had inflicted the more damaging injury to the young man.

"Look, Neal," Peter pulled the plastic chair from the other side of the table and placed it near Neal. He sat down and leaned forward towards his friend, "We need to talk."

The sound that escaped from Neal was not that of a pleased man.

"We need to talk about what happened the other day" the pause was heavy "the way I treated you at the office before we went to meet the buyer."

"We did talk about it," Neal said, looking at Peter, "I hurt you, you hurt me back. We are even. Let's put it behind us, okay?" The recent dispassionate look in his eyes had changed to one of pleading.

"I was angry, but there is no excuse for how I treated you, Neal."

Neal sighed resignedly, leaning against the back of the chair. He closed his eyes. "I hate it when you are mad at me." His words were echoes of the shock induced rambling on the river bank.

"Really?" Peter said, keeping his tone light. "It happens so often I didn't think it phased you anymore."

"Well, it does. That whole day," he opened his eyes and looked at Peter with a pained look "it was so bad," he paused, "You know it's bad when getting shot _isn't_ the low point of your day."

"I know it was bad" Peter said, "and I am sorry." He would say it as many times as Neal needed to hear it.

"I just wanted to disappear." He said quietly, looking away.

Peter remembered Neal's reaction in the briefing room, guilt again washing over him for his actions. He reached over and squeezed Neal's hand.

"I never want you to disappear, Neal, never." The touch and the sincerity of his words brought Neal's eyes to meet his own. "But sometimes it scares me that you might," He added with equal sincerity "There is a life out there that I know still calls to you. I guess it scares me that someone might show up one day, and you will just disappear."

"Just because I helped Alex doesn't mean I'm going anywhere. I don't want to work with her." Neal said simply, eyes falling back to the magazine on his lap. "I work with you now."

Peter released Neal's hand and leaned back in his chair. "I know. But there is so much out there that I don't know about-so many people that might have more influence on you..."

Neal moved his foot from beneath the covers, the anklet in its place, and looked at Peter. "You own me, Peter, so I wouldn't worry too much about having limited influence over my life choices." He even managed a smile. "And if I disappeared you would just call up my tracking data and come find me."

The smile, although weak, was accompanied by an almost playful expression in the blue eyes. This encouraged Peter; he was making progress.

Peter returned the smile. "Yes, I would," He agreed. "I always find you Neal." Neal was spared a reply when his lunch arrived.

"Time for lunch, Mr. Caffrey," the young lady announced, "You want out of here tomorrow, you have got to be eating today." Peter stood up and moved his chair, helping position the mobile table to hold Neal's tray.

After the lady's departure, Neal removed the cover, grimacing at the content.

"Elizabeth better bring me something worth eating, or I am going to starve to death."


	11. Chapter 11

_Thanks for all the reviews. One more chapter after this and **Never Let Go** is concluded..._

_As always,_

_I own nothing but the mistake, for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Eleven**

Sitting by the window in an elegant pair of silk pajamas, Neal having picked at broiled chicken and stewed vegetables, looked tired. The conversation had taken a toll on him, and they had sat in relative silence while he ate. Peter was intent on making things right again between him and his friend. He had admitted that he had let things get out of control after the Bellington take down; he had tried to explain his irrational reaction to some very rational fears. Explained his fears but not excused his actions; that had been Elizabeth's advice. He had apologized. Several times. And would continue to do so until Neal believed him.

Peter felt progress had been made. When Neal spoke to him, he seemed more like Neal; not the detached version of his partner that Peter had been trying to reach over the past few days.

Neal sat down the jello container, signaling the end of his lunch experience.

"Neal," Peter said, "In the future, when situations come up, when people come up, from the past you have to let me know. You have to trust me enough to tell me."

Neal took a weary breath, not pleased that the previous conversation was about to resume. "I do trust you, Peter, you know that."

"Then why didn't you tell me about Alex?" Peter countered.

"I may trust you with my life, but that is my choice; it doesn't give me the right to put other people's lives in your hands like that."

"You trust me with your life but not the lives of your friends?" This surprised Peter. "Why?"

"You have a reason to keep me safe." He shrugged, "I am an investment, a criminal with skills to offer-FBI property. But my friends are not."

"You think that is all you are to me, a criminal with skills," Peter felt stung by those words. "you think I am just protecting an investment?"

"That is how my friends see it," Neal deflected, "You are FBI, and I am, well as you like to remind me, a criminal. They can't see past that. "

"But is that how you see it?" Peter pressed.

"It feels that way sometimes, but no," Neal seemed uneasy, eyes darting to the window. "I think….I hope there is more to it." Hoped, his voice said, hoped but was not convinced.

At Neal's silence, Peter ventured "You hope there is more to it, how?"

"You know, that I am more than just a skill set." His voice sounded unsure, hands busying themselves with the magazine in his lap "that you know there is more to me that just what some file says."

"I do know that, Neal," Peter assured him. "I always have, even when you were still James Bonds." That got a small smile, and Neal looked at him.

"When I tell them that they accuse me of having Stockholm Syndrome."

Peter knew exactly what friend made that accusation. He had heard it himself or more than one occasion. "Mozzie."

"It's just, important, you know, for people to know that they matter," Neal continued, "And when they are in trouble they need to know that someone cares enough to try to help them out."

"Like Alex?" Peter asked but knew Neal wasn't just talking about her.

"Yes, like Alex, I know that Alex is just another criminal to you, but to me…." He stopped, "She is a person; She collects stuffed rabbits and has a grandmother who loves her and what happens to her matters. People matter, at least to me."

The passion in his voice could not be missed. People mattered to Neal because he knew how important it was to feel valued; he needed to feel valued. He helped people because he knew how important it was to know someone cared; he needed to know that someone cared. When someone needed him, there was no sacrifice too great to make to show them those two things; they mattered, and he cared. He would risk his life-and had done so-for a friend in need; for Peter. Risking a case was hardly worth a pause.

"She matters, and so you would have blown the case to help her." It was a statement and not a question. It didn't cause anger to flair in his heart the way it had four days ago-it triggered a completely different response.

"Yeah," Neal said. "If I had had to choose between the case and Alex, I would have chosen Alex, because…" he paused but Peter finished for him.

"Some things are more important." He nodded, finally understanding "Like people." Neal looked up, a look of surprise on his face, but the expression quickly changed to gratitude at finally being understood.


	12. Chapter 12

_This is the end of **Never Let Go**. I enjoyed writing it and have more than enjoyed everyone's kind words. Real life calls; the History Museum I work at is installing an exhibit for an opening Friday, so my writing for fun is on hold until after then. I do have another story in progress, so I plan to be back soon. And for all of you whose writings I am following...keep them coming. They make my day!_

_(even though it was finished, I spent like two hours redoing the ending. I don't know if it was because it needed it or if I just _**_Didn't Want To Let Go _**_of this story!) _

_As always, I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Twelve**

"Speaking of being shot not being the low point of your day," Peter began, almost hating to bring up the subject of that horrible day, but more was needed before incident could be lain to rest. They have been making progress, but there was still things Peter needed to say; things Neal needed to hear. "Why did you step between us?"

"I was afraid he was going to shoot you, obviously." He had helped Neal upstairs to his apartment. It had taken some doing, and Neal, exhausted from the effort, collapsed down onto the sofa.

"I was wearing a vest, Neal; you were not."

"Yeah, but the way he was waving that gun around, he could have shot you in the head," Neal answered, "A vest wouldn't help with that."

"Would've helped with that, though," Peter said nodding towards the sling on Neal's shoulder. "I would have fared better with that bullet than you did."

"Actually, Peter," Neal sighed, "I figured I could talk him out of it, you know." He smiled but due to his discomfort at the moment, it wasn't his best or brightest. "Use my charm and personal skills to calm him down."

Peter could buy that; Neal did have a knack for being able to talk himself out of a tight spot. And when the shot rang out, Neal did look surprised. He may have stepped in front of a gunman, but he hadn't planned on actually being shot. As frustrating as that was, that was Neal being Neal, just as Elizabeth had pointed out to him in a subsequent conversation.

But on the bridge, that was different. There was no denying the significance of the sacrifice Neal had been willing to make. He had let go of Peter's hand when death was the most probable outcome of that action. And the way his blue eyes had closed as he fell, Peter knew that Neal knew that.

He sat down beside him and Neal looked distressed. Peter understood; Neal was tired and wanted Peter to go.

"But after that," Peter asked, "what were you thinking, Neal?"

"When?" a genuinely confused look on his pale face.

"On the bridge," Peter said, "when you pulled that stunt and let go of my hand."

"Oh, that." Neal hesitated, and adjusted himself to a more comfortable position. "I was thinking that if we both fell in, you wouldn't be able to come and save me." His smile was better this time.

"No, really Neal," Peter said, "That could have been it, you know, that could have been the _end_ of you." And you knew it, he wanted to say.

"It could have been the end of both of us," Neal said, "If I hadn't let go."

"You let go to save me, willing to make that kind of sacrifice," Peter shook his head, "After everything I had done…"

Peter knew that Neal's friends insisted he meant nothing to Peter, that he was nothing more than a useful criminal, and Peter, in anger, had validated those claims in the worse way. Neal, who needed to feel valued, had been devalued. The memory of it still haunted Peter, and no amount of apologizing had truly assuaged his guilt.

"It wasn't like that," Neal, who clearly didn't want to be reminded of the worse part of that day, dismissed Peter's comment with a wave of his hand. "It was either me or both of us. I was going into the water either way. No reason to take you with me."

"You know, when you went into the water," Peter's voice tightened at the memory, "I had to find you. And I wasn't looking for a criminal with skills or a CI, or trying to recover lost FBI property. I was looking for _you_ Neal; I was looking for my _friend._ "

"Really?' Neal's voice sounded cautiously hopeful; eyes glancing up at Peter, reminding him of when he had found him on the riverbank.

"Yes, really," he answered, "It's important for people to know that they matter," Peter said, repeating Neal's own words back to him, "And when they are in trouble, they need to know that someone cares enough to help."

Neal's voice caught in his throat at those words; he looked away quickly. "Yeah, I know."

"I don't do a good job of that," Peter reached over, putting his hand on the nape of Neal's neck, and squeezed reassuringly. Neal tensed at first, unsure of how to respond. There was a slight shudder, followed by the sound of Neal attempting to regain his suddenly lost composure. It had been a long day, and Neal was reeling both physically and emotionally. This was the time, Peter knew. It was the opportunity to sooth the wound in his friend's heart; the wound he had inflicted. It was time to make things right.

Peter shifted his position, moving closer to Neal. His hand left Neal's neck, went to his shoulder and pulled the young man to him. Neal didn't resist and gave into the gentle pressure, resting his head against Peter's chest. Peter sighed at the knowledge that a barrier had been broken, finally.

"You matter Neal," he said, "You were more than a file folder even in the beginning, and you are more than a skill set now. You are _my friend_ and when you are hurt or in trouble, I want to help."

At those words, he felt the young man's body convulse slightly and felt wetness on his shirt as Neal's tears fell unchecked. Peter hoped they were healing tears. After several moments, Peter took one of Neal's hands into his own and squeezed to emphasize his next words. "But you have to trust me enough to _tell me_ when you _need me_."

"That's not" Neal's voice was still choked with emotion, "easy for me."

"It's not easy for anybody, Neal, but you can do it" he ventured, "when it counts you can do it."

"Like by the water," Neal said quietly, "I remember some of that, you know."

"Really, do you remember what you said to me?" Peter asked.

"I asked you to stay with me, I think." The voice was small.

"Yes, and I did," Neal's head still rested against Peter's chest, but tears had abated. "Anything else?"

Neal didn't answer, and Peter supplied "You squeezed my hand and asked me to not let you go."

"And you didn't," Neal answered softly "_either_ time."

"No, I didn't," His tightened his grip on Neal's shoulder and squeezed his hand again in promise "And I am not going to, ever."

"No matter what?" Soft voice; soft pleading.

"No matter what," Peter reiterated. He felt his promise accepted by the small movement of Neal nodding against his chest.

It was several minutes before he felt Neal's head move away and the grip on his hand release. Peter gave a little nudge of assistance as Neal righted himself beside him on the sofa. The awkward silence between them was different now; Peter didn't mind.

"Sorry I have been so much trouble," Neal broke the silence, his voice quiet and apologetic "I should have told you about Alex. I will try," he emphasized the word, "_try,_ to do better next time."

"Good," Peter nodded, then did his part to lighten the moment. "Does she really collect stuffed rabbits?" Peter asked with a smile.

"She does," Neal looked at Peter a bit abashed; whether from the memory of his outburst or for letting personal information about Alex slip, Peter didn't know. "I think liberating one was her first," Neal continued and stopped again, " alleged criminal act."

Peter raised his eyebrows in question.

Neal gave a half shrug; the best he could do with his injury. "From a rigged carnival booth. She was ten," he finished.

"Theft of a stuffed rabbit when she was ten," Peter said with a smile. "Pretty sure the statute of limitations ran out on that a long time ago."

He stood up, his movement indicating his imminent departure. Neal's face was tear streaked and pale. He needed rest; and they both needed to recover from the emotional moments they had just experienced.

Peter knew he struggled in dealing with emotional issues, not only with of those of others but with his own as well. Other than anger or frustration, which unfortunately seemed to come without effort, he had a hard time expressing how he felt about things and especially about people.

Anger came easy but the kinder and more affectionate stuff was harder for him to express. With Neal, when he felt those emotions, he just ruffled his hair or gave him a reassuring pat on the back. He knew Neal was equally uncomfortable, and so the gestures were accepted for what they were and they both moved on.

But after the Bellington incident, Peter had used his anger to hurt Neal in a way that a pat on the back or ruffling of hair would not make better. Injured by words and actions, it took words and actions to repair the damage. Having wounded the heart with words, only words from the heart would heal them. It wasn't easy but Peter had taken Elizabeth's advice, cowboyed up, and spoken to Neal from the heart. "We good?" he asked.

"Yeah, Peter," Neal answered, looking both pleased and embarrassed at the same time, "We are good."

"Good." Peter reached down and ruffled Neal's dark hair, his preferred gesture of affection, "Get some rest."

"I will," Neal answered, "and thanks for bringing me home...and for well, everything else, too."

"It was the least I could do for a friend, Neal," Peter said earnestly. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Peter."

Peter returned to his car feeling that he had undone as much of the damage he had inflicted on Neal as he could. Words spoken could be tempered, explained and even apologized for but they could never be taken back. As much as he wanted to forget everything that had happened, there were things he wanted, he needed, to remember. The anguish he felt when Neal disappeared into the water, his complete relief when he found Neal alive on the riverbank and finally, the feeling that overcame him when Neal had squeezed his hand, and said _"Don't let me go." _

The emotional impact of those event had been tremendous. They made Peter realize what Neal had known all along:

_That somethings are more important than anything. Like people. _

_Like Neal._ Peter didn't want to ever forget how much Neal meant to him, how much a part of his life he had become. No matter what happened or even how off course things might get, he would never let that friendship go.

"I promise I won't let you go," he said softly to himself, closed the door and started the car. He couldn't wait to get home to let Elizabeth know that things were, finally, going to be okay again.

The End


End file.
